Skool For Scroungers
by Invisible Ranger
Summary: Pre-movie oneshot. A typical day in the life of Christopher Johnson and Oliver. How does a little prawnling keep from getting bored in D9? Please R&R.


_**Skool For Scroungers**_

**by Mizhowlinmad (HBF), 2010**

**Rating: PG**

**Disclaimer: **_**District 9**_** belongs to TriStar and N. Blomkamp. I do this not for the glory, but for the cat food. **

xxx

Oliver Johnson was bored.

:_Try and see if you can fix the holosphere:, _Dad might say. :_Think of it as a challenge. If not that, maybe you can tinker with the wiring on those faulty capacitors? I have a lot to do, little one.: _And then he went right back to work.

All his dad ever did was work, work, work on the thing underneath their shack. He expected no less of his son.

It wasn't as if there was much else to do. Playing outside, maybe, but that got old quickly when the only toys available were torn plastic bags and discarded, rusty cat food cans.

Oliver had recently become aware of somewhere humans his age went called _skool_ but had no idea what the word meant. He was intrigued: new human words were always interesting. The last MNU agent who'd come to bother them had mentioned _skool_ in passing. Grumbled something about the only reason he worked these awful conditions was so he could afford to send his daughters to a decent _skool_.

One thing he knew for sure about humans: any time they talked about spending credits on something, it meant it was worth having. Not like something they left on the vast junk heaps in and around D9. So he decided to go down to the workshop and ask his dad about it. Dad knew a surprising amount about humans and their strange ways.

:Dad, what's _skool_?:

Christopher appeared to be in a bad mood. All morning, he'd been trying to reroute a server and nothing was going well. He uttered a click of profanity. :What did you say?: he asked, seeing his curious little son staring down at him.

:_Skool_. I heard the last agent mention it. It sounds neat.:

The Poleepkwa could not laugh, but his dad's response was the closest thing. :Nothing you need to worry about, little one. It's a human thing.:

Dad said that all the time. Like a "human thing" was always bad. Oliver actually liked a few things from their world. Canned oysters, for example, which Dad always managed to scrounge up for his hatchday. He was sure _skool _had to be one of those things too.

:But what is it? And why do they want to go there so bad?:

Christopher put down the pliers he was using, turning to look right at his son. :You know how most of the agents are? And the First Battalion soldiers?:

Oliver nodded.

:Humans go to _skool, _I think, only so they can learn how to hate us,: he said softly. And he went right back to his work without saying another word.

He left his dad, climbing back up to the surface. He was hugely disappointed, and he still knew nothing more about the mysterious _skool_. As for what his dad had said, Oliver always thought most humans simply hated his kind as soon as they were hatched. They only saw them as pests and parasites, when in fact…

:_Who was it,_: Christopher always said before pointing skyward, :_who built _that_? Us, or them?_:

The first time he'd ever mentioned it, they'd been on one of their endless scavenging missions on the outskirts of D9. Oliver remembered responding with :_But it doesn't work, right, Dad?_:

A gentle pat on his shoulder. :_It _will _work again, someday. Which is why we need to find all the useful parts we can. I know it's hard, little one, but things will get better. That's a promise._:

It had become a regular part of their routine. Wake up in the relatively watery light of this planet's sun, line up for rations if MNU decided to show up that day, head to one of the many discard heaps looking for something, anything, they might be able to fix the thing in the basement. Dad was interested mostly in metal objects. Oliver, though, was young, and extremely curious. Frequently his attention wandered elsewhere to the many non-metal treasures the humans had thrown out.

:_Look, what's this?_:

Christopher had examined the rag his son had given him: a torn, faded green youngling-sized thing bearing the legend _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. _Humans had such simplistic script; only twenty-six characters as opposed to the roughly six thousand needed for even a basic understanding of Poleepkwan. He had no idea what the slogan meant, so he had said no.

:_What's it say? C'mon, Dad, please?:_

In the end, Dad had not let Oliver keep the green rag, but had agreed to start teaching him how to understand humanscript. It was important, Dad said, that he learn to read it so that he might better pick out useful objects from the mounds of garbage.

Oliver had taken to it like a gangster to credits and guns. Every time they went scrounging, he practiced reading the scraps of paper and old magazines among the litter. His prized possession was a battered but colorful little paper booklet with the strange title _Star Wars_. If Dad knew he'd kept that, he'd have really been mad. Some of the drawings of there of what were, Oliver guessed, supposed to be his kind, were just plain weird. But it was his little secret, stashed away under the pallet where he slept.

:Son?: Dad's voice interrupted his thoughts. :Can you hear me?:

He wandered back to the hole. :Yes, Dad,: he said, thinking maybe Christopher had changed his mind about _skool _after all.

:I need you to do me a favor. I'm out of copper wiring. Do you think you could look for more?:

Oliver felt a rush of pride. What Dad really meant was whether he wanted to go outside, on his own, to the closest junkpile to look. He'd only recently been allowed this privilege. :Sure. What sort do you need?: he asked, trying to hide his excitement.

Dad gave him the proper specs. Before Oliver could rush outside, he heard his father's voice again.

:Don't stop for anyone, especially MNU. If anyone asks, you're just fetching water…all right?:

:Sure. No problem.:

:And son?: Dad clicked. :No toys. Just the wiring.:

_Sure, _Oliver thought. _Just the wiring…_

xxx

Any time he was outside the confines of the tiny shack, he felt free. The air was thick with the smells of rot and decay, but Oliver didn't care. It was early in the morning, and he was alone, with no humans or other Poleepkwa around. He simply loved it.

Every scrounging mission brought fresh opportunity for him to learn little bits of information about the human world. For example, the fact that humanscript may only have had twenty-six characters, but could be made into any number of strange languages. _Wouldn't it just be simpler to stick with one_? thought Oliver. _Like us?_

A gust of wind brought a crumpled bit of paper to his feet. Curious, he picked it up. It was from something called _The Rage,_ and he had to work out the headline carefully:

_Gov't Minister BUSTED! Wild Nights with Prawns! Rage Exclusive!_

Oliver, like his father, hated the nickname the humans had bestowed upon them. Like _skool_, he didn't really know what a _prawn _was. He only knew he didn't look like one.

The nearest trash heap to their shack had been picked over thoroughly. But most of the Poleepkwa weren't looking for the things Oliver and Christopher Johnson were. It was a simple matter for Oliver to find a discarded computer tower and rip out the needed wiring. He started to turn around and head home, but then he noticed something out of the corner of one eye.

A cardboard box. What was better, a new-looking cardboard box.

Oliver's antennae twitched. Whatever was in there had to be interesting, and nobody else had spotted it yet. Meaning it was all his.

Something was written on the side in humanscript. _Markus' Videos._

He had no idea who Markus was, or what a _videos _might be. But he was intrigued nonetheless. Whatever was inside looked mechanical. It was a number of small, hard , rectangular objects made of that amazing human substance called _plastic. _Each of them looked pretty much the same, but upon closer inspection, Oliver noticed each one was labeled with a different name. One was _Sesame Street Live_; another said _The Wiggles. _

Oliver smelled them. They smelled like humans, all right. Markus, or maybe his parents, had apparently just tossed this box of plastic rectangles over the fence without a second thought.

He was torn. Dad said no toys; these weren't toys, though. Maybe they'd be useful as spare parts. That excuse always seemed to work when he brought something unexpected home. Since he couldn't carry the whole box by himself, Oliver selected a few randomly, tied them in his cloth sack, and scrambled back in the direction of his shack.

xxx

:You did well, little one. I'm very proud of you,: said Christopher, patting his son between the antennae. :Just what I needed.:

It had to be now, since Dad was in a good mood. :Look at these,: Oliver said, pulling out one of the strange objects from his satchel. :I thought maybe they might come in handy?:

Christopher made an odd face, his head cocked and his amber eyes narrowed. Oliver never knew whether that meant his father was happy or angry.

:Where did you get these?:

;The same place I got the copper wire. What are they?:

Blink, blink. :After I'm done working, son, I'll show you. You've been very good today, and you deserve a reward.:

The next few hours went by in a blur. Oliver went up and down the hatch ladder constantly, fetching objects and tools as his father needed them, thinking of nothing but the black rectangles and what secrets they might hold. He was so excited, he didn't even bother to eat the last bit of salted meat stashed in the cabinets. That never happened.

D9 was dark when Christopher finally emerged from his workshop, covered in dust and debris. The familiar sounds of distant gunfire, helicopters flying overhead, and Poleepkwa fighting over scraps would be a cacophony to humans, but the Johnsons were well used to them. Oliver sat at the little wooden table, staring at the holosphere that still didn't work right.

:Can you get me one of those cables?: Christopher asked. :The blue one, not the red.:

Oliver did. He was so excited, he was trembling like a moltling. He watched as the taller Poleepkwa brought out another box, a silver one, and hooked it via cable to one of the many computer monitors in the shack.

:I hope this works,: said Christopher quietly. :I only ever intended to use this thing for spare parts. Stars only know how old it is…ah, look at that…it does work!:

The monitor flickered. There was some sort of image on the screen. Not a real human, only a drawing of one, which moved. Bright colors danced and a perky human female voice sang:

_They say our solar system is centered 'round the sun,  
Nine planets, large and small, parading by.  
But somewhere out in space,  
There's another shining face  
That you might see some night up in the sky. Interplanet Janet, she's a galaxy girl…_

Oliver's eyes widened in delight. It wasn't like the holosphere, but it was almost better.

:Humans made that?: He was astonished. They only ever made guns and fences and missiles and misery. How could that species have possibly made something like this? Something bright and happy?

Christopher looked down at his transfixed offspring. It had all been worth it.

:And each one of these boxes has a different bright moving picture?:

:Yes, little one. I thought you would like them.: Christopher put one arm around his son. :Just don't think that all humans are as kind as that. This isn't real, it's only…: He looked for the right word. :An entertainment. To help them forget their problems.: _Just like us, _he added silently, the burden of twenty years of misery on his shoulders.

Oliver didn't have to answer. Just for now, he knew he'd found something from the human world that was just as wonderful as _skool._

_Fini_

_(Author's Note: My first actual D9 story, and Wikus is nowhere in sight! Just wanted to do a pre-movie Day in the Life sort of thing with CJ and Oliver. All comments are welcome, and thanks for reading.)_

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End file.
